


Gardens in the Desert

by bongbingbong



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bones loses a patient, Deputy Kirk, Dream Sharing, Gravedigger Spock, M/M, Minor descriptions of Old West Doctoring that are probably incorrect, Old West Doctor Bones, Original characters getting trampled by a horse, Spock is mildly psychic, Western AU, gratuitous flower content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27617636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bongbingbong/pseuds/bongbingbong
Summary: Spock is the town gravedigger. He has a suspicious tendency to always be in the right place at the right time, and knows things about people that he couldn't possibly explain. Most people do their best to force him to stay the hell away, but Doctor McCoy has never been one to let local rumours stop him from treating a patient.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89
Collections: Bones McCoy H/C





	Gardens in the Desert

**Author's Note:**

> [upset_and_confused](https://archiveofourown.org/users/upset_and_confused/pseuds/upset_and_confused) and I were listening to Desert Rose and then this happened.

Decision making was seldom a straightforward process for a Deputy. The town came first, of course - except when their interests were at odds with the law… or with justice… or each other. Then there came the Shaw brothers - three men who ran the Palace Saloon, and as much of the rest of the town that they could weasel their way into getting. Their interests and their money unfortunately ranked quite highly. And widely. And every other which way they could manage to make money from. After all of that, there was the matter of the strange man who had rescued him from drowning, around four years ago. As luck would have it, he was also the man everyone else whispered about and avoided. That unfortunately put him quite low on the list of priorities - somewhere down the bottom.

Spock had been an odd, quiet man from the first time Deputy Kirk had met him. He’d dragged him from the water with a strength that belied his slender frame, and then had waited until Kirk coughed up all the water he could. After that, it had been a raised eyebrow and the suggestion that “perhaps as Deputy of the town you ought to consider swimming lessons,” which had made Kirk laugh so hard it had sent him into another coughing fit. Needless to say, he was extremely fond of Spock, and considered him a dear friend. The problem was though, the river where he’d fallen was secluded, an area that well and truly veered off the road into town. Spock had not elaborated on why he’d been there to come to the rescue. Kirk knew it was because he had simply known.

That was the crux of it. Spock radiated a strange otherworldly wisdom that tended to set people on edge. He had a habit of mentioning things he had no business knowing, and a face that seldom betrayed what he was thinking. To add to that, he had odd, slanted eyebrows and high cheekbones that gave him a permanently austere appearance. He seemed quite aware of the unsettling effect he had on people, and tended to keep to himself. This was a good thing because Kirk did not want to think about what might happen if he were to try and strike up a conversation with any of the many people who preferred to keep him as far away as possible.

As Deputy, that also meant his opportunities to check in on his friend were few and far between, so when Spock limped into his office one day, he was delighted. The feeling lasted but a moment when he saw the bloodied rag tied haphazardly around his leg.

“Spock!” he exclaimed, “what happened to you - were you attacked?”

Spock shook his head.

“I have come to inform you that I will require materials to fix several of the graveyard fences, which are rotted to the point of breaking. Several of them have already done so.”

Kirk nodded, not taking his eyes off Spock’s leg.

“And what are you planning on doing with that?”

“My leg?” said Spock, “walk on it, I expect. That is its purpose.” 

“Don’t mess around Spock, that looks terrible. Go get it fixed up properly before it gets infected.”

Spock responded with a slightly deeper inhale than usual, which for him passed as a sigh.

“Deputy, need I remind you that my engagement with the rest of the town manifests only through the maintenance of their graveyard and the digging of their-”

“Bones isn’t like that, Spock,” said Kirk, his eyes wide and earnest, “trust me.”

“Bones.”

Spock said the word with the same flat intonation that was usual for his speech, but Kirk had known him long enough to recognise the implicit question.

“Sawbones. Doctor McCoy - you mean to tell me you’ve been here for… how many years and never been to see him?”

“Four years, three months, and three days,” said Spock.

“See, that proves my point!” said Kirk, slapping his hand on his desk, “don’t tell me you haven’t hurt yourself in all that time, with the work you do.”

“I am perfectly capable of seeing to my own injuries and illnesses,” said Spock, “I have the skills and the knowledge.”

“Oh yes, very knowledgeable.”

Kirk stared pointedly at the terrible bandaging job on Spock’s leg. One of the ends was starting to come loose, and the whole thing was sliding down his calf. Spock’s face remained impassive.

“You would vouch for Doctor McCoy?” he said.

“With my life,” replied Kirk, “he’s got a bit of a temper when it comes to people applying their own personal, uh,  _ skills and knowledge _ , but he’s really a very sweet guy when it comes down to it.”

Spock took a moment to mull this over.

“He was berating Joseph Shaw outside over his attempts to break a new horse he had purchased,” he said.

“And was old Joe listening to him?”

“Yes indeed, I believe he was.”

Kirk gave him the self satisfied nod he gave when he thought he’d given a very clever answer. Spock, however, was still puzzled.

“People listen to him because they know he cares, Spock! I’m just saying, he might yell at you, but that doesn’t mean he’s angry.”

“Ah,” said Spock, “he will berate me for my actions, but will treat me nonetheless?”

Kirk was trying to reassure him. That, he could understand.

“That’s about it, Spock. Head over there now, I’ll see to it that you get your fence making things.”

“Much obliged, Deputy.” 

Spock paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“It has been… gratifying to see you.”

Kirk beamed, “I’ve missed you too, Spock. Don’t be a stranger.”

“As we have been acquainted for four years, three months and four days at this stage, I do not believe that will be an issue.”

*

“Hate to break it to you son, but this is the goddamned worst patch-up job I ever laid eyes on.”

Spock gritted his teeth against the sensation of Doctor McCoy peeling the rag off the gash in his leg, pain rendering him silent.

Kirk had been right, the doctor hadn’t spared him a second glance before urging him into his cabin and sitting him down. The man had been -  _ fussing _ over him was the most accurate word he could put to it. Spock was a little uncomfortable with the attention, but the man kept up a steady stream of talk without expectation for reciprocation, which suited him just fine. 

“Alright I’m going to clean this up a bit, so this is going to sting like hell. Here-” he passed Spock a bottle of whiskey, “for the pain.”

Spock dutifully took a swig from the bottle, his eye twitching slightly as it burned all the way down his throat.

“Yeah, it’s strong stuff,” said McCoy, “alright, I’m goin’ in now.”

The doctor fell quiet as he cleaned and inspected Spock’s wound. Spock kept a tight grip on the sides of his chair as he did so, as pain shot up his injured leg all the way to his hip. He tried to distract himself by looking around the room at the neat rows of bottles and vials arranged on the shelves beside him, on the worn, empty wooden table in the centre of the room he presumed was for operating on. On the stacks of books and pens piled haphazardly in the far corner of the room, where he presumed McCoy slept. He focused on breathing through his nose, but couldn’t stifle a gasp as McCoy flooded his wound with something that burned white-hot. He screwed his eyes shut against the agony of it, when he felt a hand on his wrist.

“It’s alright, it’ll fade in a moment, I promise,” said McCoy, his voice gentler than before. Spock let out a breath and sucked in another one, feeling sweat prickle at his back. It hurt - god, it hurt. 

“Breathe,” said McCoy softly, “you’re alright.”

Sure enough, the searing sensation in his leg faded to a throbbing ache, as McCoy finished cleaning the wound and began to stitch it up.

“How’d you do this anyway?” he said, “it’s one hell of a gash.”

“Fixing the fence posts,” replied Spock through gritted teeth, “wood was rotted - fell on me.”

“Huh. You know, they say you’ve got the sight, but you can’t be that good at it if you didn’t see that one comin’,” said McCoy, snipping the end of the catgut and nodding at the neat row of stitches he had left. He held the bottle out to Spock again.

“You look like you could use this.”

Spock accepted the drink gratefully, then sagged back in the chair. The pain had now subsided but it had made him drained, and he let himself drift while McCoy wrapped clean bandages around his leg.

“You look after the graveyard, right? I’ll come check in on you in a couple of days.”

“That will not be necessary doctor, I am perfectly capable of-”

Spock was stopped by a glare from two extremely piercing blue eyes. McCoy frowned at him until he seemed satisfied that Spock had gotten the message, and then patted his knee.

“There’s a good man. You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe any of that ‘perfectly capable’ talk given the state you walked in.”

“My medical skills have been perfectly serviceable for the past four years that I’ve resided here-”

“A miracle you’re not already dead, if that’s the case-”

“Bandaging a wound is not so difficult a task-”

“Coulda fooled me with what you managed-”

“Doctor McCoy, if we remain in communication the people of this town will  _ retaliate _ .”

Spock’s jaw snapped shut. Perhaps he should not have had that second drink. McCoy’s eyebrow raised, and he glanced out the window as if that would help him discern who the source of the retaliation would be.

“So that’s why you’ve never come to see me, huh?” he said quietly. Spock would not meet his eyes.

“You think I’d turn you away because of all that stuff people say about you?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” said Spock, then mentally kicked himself again. He had to get out of here. The doctor was kind and gentle and entirely undeserving of the suspicion and ire of the rest of the townsfolk. The longer he remained, the worse it would be.

“I’d sooner turn you away on account of that terrible haircut,” said McCoy, “do you do that yourself?”

“Ah, I can sense another jibe brewing in that single-use mind of yours,” replied Spock, “something about my barbering skills being akin to my medical skills.”

“Got it in one,” said McCoy, clasping his shoulder, “now you go home and rest that leg, else it won’t heal properly. I’ll be up in a couple of days to see how you’re going.”

Spock opened his mouth to protest, but McCoy held up a hand.

“I know you’re worried, but it’s alright. These people need a doctor, and if they don’t like my patients they can forget about ever being one. See how much they enjoy ridin’ all the way to the next town to get help when they need it.”

The doctor was oversimplifying the situation, but Spock was too tired to retaliate. He stood up, tested the weight on his leg, and inclined his head politely.

“Thank you for your help doctor, I am much obliged.”

A sudden thought made his blood run cold.

“Doctor-” he said, suddenly slightly breathless, “my work here is provisional, and my wages-” 

His throat closed over the rest of the sentence as shame threatened to engulf him. He stood very still, his hands balled at his sides.

“I mean to say-” he continued, forcing the words out one by one, “I can make myself available to you, should you need any - help-”

“Spock,” said McCoy, his voice so full of warmth it threatened to overwhelm him, “it’s alright.”

Spock inhaled, then exhaled. He stared resolutely at the floor, but in his mind’s eye he could picture those blue eyes crinkling at the corners. If anything, the thought made him feel worse.

“I’ve got some leaks in the roof here need mendin’, so once you’re back on your feet maybe you could help me out with that and we could call it even.”

“That would be… acceptable,” replied Spock, “I will return once I am adequately healed.”

He turned to make a swift retreat, but was stopped once more by McCoy saying,

“You’re not… walkin’ home are you?”

“Doctor-”

“Dammit man, what did I say about restin’ that leg?”

“Doctor, I-”

“Lemme take you back, or else you’ll-”

“Thank you Doctor McCoy, your help is appreciated but I must take my leave of you now,” said Spock as quickly as he could. 

McCoy reached out and grasped his shoulder, his demeanour shifting to irritation.

“Now listen here Spock-”

Spock could see no alternative - he shoved McCoy away from him as hard as he could, then turned and fled from the cabin, not waiting to see McCoy tumble to the floor. Spock limped away as fast as he could; he did not know what he would do if McCoy were to throw the door open and call out to him once more. His entire body felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t tell which was worse - the pain that ignited in his leg, or the shame burning in his cheeks.

*

By the time he made it back to the little shack he inhabited in the graveyard, it was dark, and Spock was exhausted. His leg screamed in pain with every step, and he all but collapsed onto his bed once he made it inside. His shirt was soaked with sweat from the punishing walk back, but he was too tired to fetch his other one. He fumbled with the buttons until they were all undone, then wriggled out of the garment, tossing it to the floor and lying back down to catch his breath. 

In between an inhale and an exhale, his eyes closed and his body relaxed.

He was asleep.

Then his eyes opened, and before him was the vast expanse of desert road that began on the outskirts of town. The dirt and rocks were blue in the moonlight, and the land spread out flat and infinite to the horizon. It was too quiet to be real; no animals disturbed the eerie stillness, and though the wind moved puffs of dust along the ground in waves, no rustling broke the silence. There was an odd ringing in Spock’s ears, his mind rejecting the silence and frantically filling it instead. Spock dug a fingernail into the pad of his thumb, focusing on the sensation. He was no stranger to lucid dreaming, but the emptiness, the sheer endless absence - that part was new. He was accustomed to sorting through a flurry of images from his subconscious... or whatever part of him it was that assaulted his sleeping mind with glimpses of what was to come. This? This was too still, too quiet. Too calm.

The wind picked up and something flew against his cheek. Grasping blindly, he snatched at air as the strange object tumbled and twisted, and landed on the path at his feet. It was a black ribbon, still shifting languidly along the ground as the breeze pushed it this way and that. He bent down to pick it up, but just as his fingers brushed it the wind picked up again and it glided down the road once more, light and snakelike. Spock took another step towards it, and another puff of wind blew it further - so he decided to follow it. 

He walked along the path all night, and as he walked he noticed dim buds of lights guiding him along the way. At first, there was only one tiny orange pinprick by the road. He did not stop to examine it for fear of losing track of the ribbon, but before long there was another. And another. Warm, glowing blooms that grew more and more numerous until they were a cluster of light that surrounded him. A particularly strong gust blew the ribbon off the ground, where it flew up and immediately tangled in the stalk of a particularly tall flower, the only one that had sprung up right in the middle of the road. Its petals shone the brightest of all, a bold, bright orange, and up close Spock could see it was a desert marigold. Spock reached out to touch it, and as his fingers neared he could feel warmth radiating from its heart. But just as his fingers were about to make contact, he awoke with a start - and it was morning.

*

Thankfully, there were no graves to dig today - only the grounds to tend to. While Spock refused to remain idle, he did go about his business slowly, stopping when his injury began to protest. As he worked, he found his mind wandering continuously to Doctor McCoy - the sting of guilt baring its teeth every time the memory from last night crossed his mind. He had not been able to look up, but his mind’s eye supplied its own conjuration of McCoy’s face, his eyes wide and hurt from the betrayal. The image tortured him all day, until the afternoon passed in a haze. 

Spock had always been supremely irritated with the graveyard - whoever had dug graves before him certainly hadn’t done anything to keep the place in good working order. The graves were dotted around the area haphazardly, making jagged lines and clusters where they pleased. It was very obvious where Spock had picked up; the lines of graves he had dug were straight and even. 

There were marigolds growing here and there, and he plucked them from where they were beginning to overtake the headstones, making a little bunch of them in his hands. He wasn’t sure why he was keeping them, although perhaps his dream had something to do with it. By and by, he looked up from his work only to realise that the sun was low in the sky - and there was someone walking towards him. 

The graveyard was pretty far out on the edge of town, and nowhere near the main road so there could be only one place the rider was headed for. Spock placed one hand on the headstone of an H. B. Eaton and pushed himself upright with a grunt, squinting to make out the figure against the horizon. As the man neared, Spock realised with a sudden increase in his heart rate that it was Doctor McCoy. What business could he have here? 

As he drew ever closer, Spock could see from the man’s slowish gait that the doctor was tired. He didn’t seem to be steeling himself for a fight or an angry word - one hand held his medical bag, and the other swung freely by his side as he walked. He noticed Spock, and raised a tentative hand in greeting. Spock raised his hand by way of reply, and then began to limp over to him, earning himself a scowl.

“Looks like you’ve done a terrible job of following my instructions,” said McCoy as soon as he was close enough to be within earshot. 

Spock didn’t know how to reply to that so he remained facing McCoy, mute.

“After you walked that damn leg all the way home last night I figured I’d come make sure you hadn’t done any more damage.”

Up close, Spock realised his evaluation had been correct; there were shadows under McCoy’s eyes like he hadn’t slept well, or possibly at all. The guilt dug itself in further and Spock took a deep breath to still the churning in his stomach - in, and out.

“I apologise,” said Spock, steeling himself as his throat threatened to close over the words, “for my conduct last night. Did I harm you?”

McCoy shrugged one shoulder, “not really, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it again.”

“I apologise,” said Spock, “you were incredibly kind, and all I have done is-”

“Spock,” said McCoy, and then paused, looking at the flowers still clutched in his hand.

“Those are nice.”

“They are desert marigolds,” said Spock, “they grow everywhere.”

“Doesn’t stop ‘em from looking nice, though.”

Spock didn’t know what came over him, but he plucked the brightest-looking flower from the bunch, and held it out to the doctor. McCoy smiled widely, the weariness dissolving from his face, if only for a moment. He tucked the bloom behind his ear, and Spock felt a strange flutter in his chest. He didn’t have time to contemplate what it could mean, because then McCoy took him by the arm and steered him towards his hut.

“Let’s have a look at that leg, hm?”

*

It wasn’t until he was seated by the window, McCoy knelt beside him inspecting his leg, that Spock realised the usual thing to do in these situations would be to offer the doctor something to drink. That was the polite way to do it. But weren’t those moments usually shared in companionship? That didn’t work either - Spock only had one cup. He fretted silently over this while McCoy re-bandaged his leg and nodded, satisfied.

“Well, looks like by some miracle you haven’t made it any worse,” said McCoy, patting Spock’s knee.

“Thank you for your help,” said Spock. He couldn’t help but feel a little helpless, the realisation that he was being unavoidably rude right now freezing his tongue from any further conversation.

“You’re welcome,” said McCoy with a small smile that Spock found himself unable to return.

“I must apologise again,” Spock forced the words out, they needed to be said, “I have nothing to offer, and you have put yourself out on my account when it appears you have had a difficult day-”

“How the hell d’you know how my day went?” said McCoy, changing his bandage.

“You look…” Spock faltered, realising he might sound rude.

“Like hell, I know,” said McCoy with a sigh, “Joe Shaw again tryin’ to break in that damn horse. I keep tellin’ him he’s not gonna get anywhere if he keeps on like - ah, never mind. Just makes me mad is all, you know?”

Spock did not know. He knew very little about horses, but he did know that he needed to apologise again, in case McCoy had missed that part. He cleared his throat as softly as he could manage.

“I wanted to apologise for my conduct yesterday - it was unnecessarily-”

“Spock,” said McCoy, giving him a small smile, “did I ever tell you about my horse, Dapple?”

Spock stared at him in confusion.

“Our first meeting was only yesterday-”

“Ah, turn of phrase,” said McCoy, waving the thought aside, “anyway, what I wanted to say was - she was a real piece of work when I first got her. S’what made her cheap, anyway. She used to kick and buck something fierce, snap her teeth at you when you were trying to brush her. Anyway, everyone had her pegged for a mean one, beyond help.”

“It seems unlikely that a doctor would have a horse with that sort of a temperament when presumably you use her for work purposes,” said Spock.

“You’re right there,” said McCoy, “it’s a bad idea for everybody. But it turns out, she wasn’t mean at all, she was just scared. All that kicking and biting was just her trying to protect herself, in her own way. And - and once she knew I didn’t mean her any harm, once she knew she could trust me, well. She’s my best friend now.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him.

“I am not a horse,” he said.

“No,” said McCoy, “you’re not. You know that’s not the part I was getting at, though.”

Spock looked resolutely at McCoy’s shoulders, avoiding meeting his eyes. His gaze alighted on the black ribbon tied in a bow around his collar, and he inhaled sharply.

“What is it?” said McCoy, “something the matter?”

“No,” said Spock, his voice a little hoarse, “nothing. I… cannot thank you enough for how kind you have been.”

Spock swallowed the rest of the apology that threatened to spill out. McCoy looked at him expectantly, like he was anticipating something. Instead he cleared his throat and nodded, then went on his way. Spock watched him leave from his doorway, a dark silhouette against the glowing orange bloom that was the setting sun.

*

That night, Spock was pulled to bed by a strange heaviness that blanketed him out of nowhere. He should not have been so tired, and yet the feeling seemed strangely detached from his physical form like his mind was overtaxed, though his body felt fine. Nevertheless, he lay down and curled up in his bed, drawing the blanket tight over his shoulders. This time, the drop into sleep felt like sinking. He grew heavy and his bedding turned to fine grains of sand that enveloped him so that he was half buried. It was night but the earth was still warm, cradling him. Even the moon tonight had a yellowish glow to it, and when Spock stood and dusted himself off, he could feel the heat radiating from the endless expanse of sand. Tonight he did not recognise where he was - he was once again in the desert, but in the middle of an ocean of rippling sand as far as his eyes could see. His eyes followed the perfect waves that the wind had made in the ground, and he found them disturbed by a set of hoof prints. Like he had the night before, he decided to follow where he was being guided. He set off along the path that the prints had marked out for him, and noticed that they seemed uneven and erratic. These were the tracks of an animal who did not want to be going where it was headed. From time to time the horse had clearly danced to the side, or stumbled oddly, or stamped on the spot.

As he walked, Spock noted that once more the dream seemed endless from all sides, wide and empty and almost oppressive in its vastness. He led a mostly solitary life day to day, but he had never been so aware of his own isolation, and the thought made him long for even the company of the skittish animal he was following. 

Suddenly the tracks stopped, and Spock turned around in a circle to see if he’d missed something. When he had completed his turn, he was face to face with a dapple grey mare who regarded him with wild eyes. Spock stood where he was as the mare backed up. Where her hooves met the earth, small green shoots sprung up out of the sand, snaking their way up her legs and catching her around the fetlocks, anchoring her to the ground. Her eyes widened in fright and she tried to rear, to no avail. Spock started forwards but she snapped her teeth at him, letting out a high pitched whinny as those green shoots grew bark and hardened around her. Spock went around her side and began pulling frantically at the branches which grew faster and faster around her body, until the poor thing couldn’t move at all. The branches might as well have been iron bars; no matter how hard Spock strained, he couldn’t move them. He realised at some point that there were tears on his face, and eventually he flung his arms around the neck of the horse, the last part of her that was still exposed. He could feel her muscles jump and shift under her skin as she continued to struggle uselessly against her prison. He pressed his face into her neck and wept.

_ It’s alright girl, you’re gonna be alright, we’ll find a way to get you out of here, I’ll find a way- _

Spock jerked backwards with a gasp, but before he could see who had spoken, he sat bolt upright in his bed, panting like he’d just run a mile. Strange shadowy spots danced in front of his eyes, like he had been staring into the sun. Like something in his dream had been so bright he had woken up blind. He scrubbed at his face, and his hands came away wet. 

He could collect himself later. Right now, there was no question as to who the horse belonged to, and whatever was happening in town right now, Spock knew that somehow Doctor McCoy was involved - and he was in danger.

*

The second he made it to the main street, he could see that something was amiss. The street was more full than usual, and filled with small clusters of people who didn’t seem to have anywhere to be except right here, talking excitedly amongst themselves. Deputy Kirk was currently with a group of men crowded around a large brown horse and shouting at each other while he tried to keep the peace. At one point the horse reared, and Spock noted that its hooves were smeared with blood. 

Spock frowned, then hurried on to McCoy’s cabin, hoping he hadn’t been noticed. Two of the Shaw brothers - two out of three of a trio who ran the biggest local saloon in town - were outside the window. They were hunched over at the window, trying to peer in. Joe was conspicuously missing. Spock hung back, keeping what he hoped was a respectful distance.

Then suddenly the two men jumped back, and the door swung open to reveal McCoy. If he had looked tired yesterday, today he looked completely exhausted, his eyes red-rimmed and watery. Whatever - whoever he had been working on had clearly wrecked him; he was in his shirtsleeves, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, with every inch of bare skin streaked with blood. He leaned heavily on the doorframe as he spoke quietly to the two men; his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. He did not flinch as the men drew closer, one of them jabbing a finger in his face as they hissed something angry. Spock found himself closing the distance between them, sensing danger.

“- Nothin’ better happen to him or else you’re gonna wish you was-”

“Look, we don’t want no trouble, but you need to make  _ sure _ you-”

“And I’m tellin’ you,” snapped McCoy, “I’d never willingly let a patient die, no matter how many arguments we’ve had in the past. Now let me through, I’ve gotta get some help,  _ now-” _

“Don’t see why my brother and I here can’t come in,” said the eldest of the brothers, a frighteningly tall man named Blaze. 

“You’re already gettin’ in my way,” replied McCoy, “you’re not comin’ anywhere near him. Here-”

He produced a piece of paper, holding it out to the two men.

“Here’s a list of things he’s gonna need once he’s started to recover. Go fetch ‘em.”

Blaze squinted at the list.

“Shouldn’t you have everythin’ you need on hand?” he said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

“Only so much I can keep sittin’ around - not exactly a lot of room in there,” said McCoy, crossing his arms, “you can go fetch this stuff or you can be responsible for every second we waste arguin’ about it.”

The second brother, Ash, grabbed the list and took his brother by the arm.

“C’mon,” he muttered, “if this is what he needs, we can get it.” 

Blaze narrowed his eyes at McCoy, and then grabbed him by the collar. Again McCoy did not react, except to raise an eyebrow.

“If he dies, no sweetheart Deputy’s gonna be able to save you from what you’ll get,” he growled.

“Time’s a-wastin’,” replied McCoy. 

“Blaze, please - come on!” said Ash, looking terrified.

Blaze said something under his breath and Spock watched his lips move, not taking his eyes off him until the two brothers had well and truly left.

McCoy turned his attention to Spock.

“Could you come and gimme a hand?” he called. His voice wavered a little.

Spock nodded and entered, 

*

Once the door was closed McCoy sagged against it, screwing his eyes shut in pain. A single sob shook his wiry frame, but he sucked in a gasp and held his palms to his eyes as he got his breathing under control.

“He’s dead,” he whispered, then his knees buckled under him and he sank to the ground, all strength gone. Spock’s heart was hammering against his ribcage but he knelt beside McCoy nonetheless, floundering for what to do. McCoy was frighteningly still, slumped with his back to the door as he took slow breaths with his face pressed into his hands.

“He was trampled by the horse,” said Spock, unsure of how to glean any further information from the doctor. McCoy nodded.

“Yeah, he was - dumb bastard.”

McCoy’s voice was low and wooden, devoid of emotion. Spock nodded.

McCoy reached for him, the still-tacky blood on his hands leaving a smear on the sleeve of his shirt.

“You’ve gotta go get the Deputy for me,” he whispered, “these guys, his brothers outside, they’re gonna want my head for this.”

“That is illogical - you were not at fault.”

McCoy looked directly at him for the first time, and Spock met his gaze. It chilled him to see the dull resignation in those blue eyes. He looked so weary.

“They’re going to want me killed when they find out,” he said again, “but you have to tell Jim what’s happened, he’s gotta keep an eye on ‘em, at least til I’ve had time to clean everything up in here, make it look less-”

McCoy’s voice broke as his eyes strayed to the table in the centre of the room. There was a man on the table, though any information past that was a guess at most. His trousers had been shredded, and then cut away to reveal the scrapes and bits of rock that were embedded in his skin. His shirt had been removed completely, and was a mass of bruises and lacerations - some of them in the shape of a hoof print.

“Doctor?”

McCoy startled at the sound of Spock’s voice.

“Sorry,” he said, “I haven’t - today’s just been - I haven’t been sleeping, is all.”

“You do seem in need of rest,” agreed Spock, and McCoy huffed out a humourless laugh.

“I wish I could, but the last couple of nights that doesn’t seem to have helped either. I keep having these weird dreams - ah, you’d better get going.”

Spock considered pressing the issue for a moment, but in truth he did not know what to say. 

“Alright,” he said instead, “I will return once I have-”

“ _ No _ !” growled McCoy, “no, you’re gonna tell Jim, and then you’re going to get your ass home and forget any of this ever happened. I’ve put you in enough danger as it is already.”

Spock hesitated at this, but McCoy grabbed him by the wrists, holding him tightly.

“Swear to me you won’t come back, Spock. I’m serious.”

The words stuck in Spock’s throat as the sight of McCoy’s face so close to his own, so he simply nodded. This seemed to satisfy McCoy, who let him go. His gaze strayed once more to the man on the table, and his eyes grew clouded with whatever thoughts were currently flying through his head. Spock realised that despite the awful brothers, despite the terrible, cruel reputation of the saloon owners here, McCoy had still lost a patient. He placed one hand on McCoy’s shoulder and let it rest there, tentatively. McCoy’s eyes fluttered closed, and he covered the hand with his own. Spock didn’t know what to say, but McCoy still whispered a soft  _ thank you. _

And with that, Spock had to be off.

*

Deputy Kirk knew what to do. He seemed as hesitant as McCoy to clue him in on his intentions any further than necessary, and it gave Spock an odd feeling that sat in his stomach, one that he couldn’t identify. It was not a heavy feeling like guilt, nor did it twist and press at his sternum like fear. But there was something about the fact that both Deputy Kirk and McCoy both seemed to want to keep him as far away from trouble as they could. Something that made him feel-

He pushed the emotion away, and went to retrieve his shovel. After all, the town would be in need of a new grave soon enough.

*

That night, the dream had no start. One moment, Spock was laying down - the next, he was walking down a rocky path. The desert heat was oppressive, despite the fact that it was night. He had been walking for ages; his mouth was dry and his limbs felt heavy and sore, like he had been pushing on for too long without rest. The land was no longer infinite in all directions; instead the ground to either side of the road fell away into darkness, leaving him only one option - to go forwards. 

Before too long, he was dragging his feet, kicking up lines of dust that drifted lazily around his ankles. He closed his eyes, resting them for a moment, before opening them again. 

He was standing in a small field. Again, the edges of the field blurred into shadows, infinite darkness swallowing all but the small patch of ground he now inhabited. 

Around him stood marigolds once again, clusters of them, softly glowing in the dim light. They weren’t as bright as they had been, and the light pulsated, growing dimmer and dimmer as the minutes ticked by. Spock took a step forward, then stopped. In front of one of the clusters lay a jack rabbit sprawled on its side, its chest rising and falling in time with the pulsing of the flowers. Its shiny black eyes regarded him with something that might have been resignation. The warmth of the marigold lights had grown pale and sickly, and he knew without a doubt that the jack rabbit was dying. Spock knelt beside it and brushed his hand over its brown fur, trying to offer comfort where there could be none. 

_ Always focusing on the wrong thing, what am I going to do with you? _ said the jack rabbit.

Spock withdrew his hand in surprise, then looked up. There was nothing else here, except for the clusters of marigolds. Were they important?

He stood, and looked around him. They seemed odd. Random. Except for a few rows of them over to the side, evenly placed…

_ Oh. _

Spock had to wake himself up. He turned around frantically in a circle, sucking in lungfuls of air that didn’t quite manage to mitigate the feeling that he was suffocating. He bit his hand. He screamed - nothing.

_ Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP! _

There was nothing for it. Spock picked a random direction, ran straight at the darkness, and then he was falling.

*

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon when Spock stumbled out into the grey dawn. The marigolds had been a map of his graveyard. And the jackrabbit had been lying just where he’d dug his most recent grave-

He limped there as fast as he could, gritting his teeth in frustration while his heart thumped so hard it felt as though it were rattling his chest. He almost didn’t want to peer over the edge for fear of what he might pull from that open grave, but he looked anyway - and the entire world dissolved around him. There was a roaring sound in his ears as he stared down at the pale, still form of Doctor McCoy, dumped unceremoniously in the hole he had dug. He was already half buried, like somebody had started filling in the hole but had chickened out halfway through. His face was bruised and bloodied, the tacky red smears a stark contrast against the pallor of his skin. Spock was unable to stop a soft cry from escaping his lips as he looked down at this awful apparition, hardly allowing himself to believe it was real.

But then, a slight movement of McCoy’s filthy shirt fabric. The scattering of a few grains of dirt. Was he still alive?

Spock lay down on his belly and reached down, grasping at McCoy’s arms and dragging him upwards. Despite the doctor’s slight frame, it was still an ordeal hauling his dead weight out of the hole. Finally, Spock managed to maneuver him up over the edge of the grave, and lay him out on the ground. McCoy was indeed breathing shallowly, but he had clearly been left here for some time - his skin was chilled. Spock had to get him inside and warm him up, that much at least was obvious. 

McCoy groaned as Spock lifted him into his arms, his hand lifting weakly before flopping back down. 

_ It’s alright _ , Spock wanted to say,  _ I’ve got you. _

Instead, his words were lost in his ragged breaths as he limped his way back to the hut, clutching the freezing body to his chest like he could somehow protect his strange new friend simply through closeness. For that was what he was now - correct? They had trusted each other. McCoy had sought him out, forgiven him for their rocky start. Spock had given him a flower...

He lay McCoy down on the bed and covered him with his thin blankets as best he could. He lit the stove, put water on to boil, took his cup out, and dug out the jar of tea leaves he kept for special occasions. It was all he could think to do - the only person who could give him the right advice was currently insensible in his bed. 

Spock returned to McCoy’s side once the water was heated up. He was still freezing, and Spock began to try and rub some warmth into his poor arms and feet. When that still didn’t work, he hesitated for a moment. Not because he didn’t know if he was doing the right thing or not, but because climbing into bed with McCoy, the next logical step, felt strange. Forbidden. Like a part of him wanted this, wanted the opportunity to be close, which somehow made it wrong. Logic won out though, and Spock climbed in and lifted McCoy so that they were resting back to chest. Spock put his arms around his waist and held on tight, awkwardly drawing the blankets over the two of them. 

By and by McCoy began to shiver, and Spock - unsure of what this meant - held on to him all the tighter while the kettle rattled on the stove. Did he feel any warmer? Spock certainly felt colder. But then McCoy shifted and muttered something under his breath, too softly to be discernible.

“Doctor?” said Spock, his voice catching on the word.

“S’that you Spock?” slurred McCoy, shifting again, “th’hell am I?”

“You are in my home.”

“Hmm.”

“I found you in the graveyard.”

“Oh.”

McCoy let out a long breath and let himself lie back against Spock, still shivering.

“You are injured as well?” said Spock

“Hmm? Yeah, but nothin’ bad. Jus’ hurts,” McCoy’s reply sounded as though he had to dredge the words up one by one. 

“You will need to explain how I should treat you,” said Spock. 

“Thought y’were ‘perfectly capable’,” replied McCoy. 

“Ah, a joke. You are recovering your strength then, I see.”

McCoy muttered something else under his breath, some sort of insult probably, and it filled Spock with such a sudden onslaught of affection that he gently enveloped McCoy in a hug. Cold fingers moved under the blankets, found his hand, and squeezed back.

*

When Deputy Kirk came and found them later that afternoon, McCoy had fallen asleep properly. The combination of hot tea, warmth, and his general state of exhaustion had sent him into a deep sleep. Spock hovered by his side, unsure of what to do but unwilling to stop watching over him.

Kirk let himself in, and then paused to take in the sight. McCoy did look a lot better than he had, no longer shivering and with a little colour in his face once more - but despite that, he was still filthy and bruised.

“I was going to ask if you’d seen Bones anywhere,” said Kirk, keeping his voice soft, “but I guess this answers that.”

“And yet,” said Spock, “I imagine it raises perhaps more questions than you had anticipated.”

“Well, yeah. I was gonna get to that.”

McCoy shifted in his sleep, leaving his shoulder exposed. Kirk watched as Spock carefully tucked it back over him, then sat back in his chair. He smiled, and Spock frowned.

“What do you find amusing?” said Spock.

Kirk shrugged in the way he did when he was pretending not to know something.

“Well,” he said, “it’s just that. Bones came back into town the other day with a flower tucked behind his ear.”

Spock sat up a little straighter.

“I was simply tending to the grounds, when Doctor McCoy remarked that he particularly liked the look of these flowers, so of course it was prudent and logical to give him one given that he had expressed an interest, and also due to the fact that the flowers themselves have no use except-”

“Spock,” said Kirk, holding up a hand and grinning, “it’s alright.”

Spock drew in a long breath, but fell silent.

“So,” said Kirk, “I’m certain it was the Shaws who did that to him.”

“I do not believe it could have been anybody else, no.”

“That’s... going to be a problem,” 

Kirk ran his hands through his hair and exhaled nervously. The Shaws were hard to pin down, especially right now when they were at their worst, volatile and angry. 

“I could challenge them” said Spock, eyeing McCoy. Kirk’s eyes narrowed.

“The hell you will,” he snapped, “over my dead goddamn body you’ll do that, Spock.”

Spock bristled at this, crossing his arms.

“Do you question my ability in the matter? I would remind you that I am perfectly capable-”

“Spock,” said Kirk, a little more gently, “you don’t even own a gun.”

“You do.”

Kirk’s hand instinctively went to his hip, and he shook his head.

“No way. Absolutely not.”

“Aw, you’d go after the Shaws for me?” drawled McCoy, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the hoarseness of his voice. Spock didn’t reply, instead going to fetch him some water.

“How’re you feeling, Bones?” said Kirk. McCoy waved a weak hand and gave his best attempt at a smile.

“That good, huh?”

“You’re not gonna let him actually go after those two are you?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it. Now, you tell me what you remember, hmm?”

“I - ah. I remember Blaze barging in, yellin’ for Ash to hold me down while he beat the hell out of me. Dunno how long it went on for, but I think I must’ve passed out at one point. Then I remember lyin’ in that grave for a while, thinkin’ I was gone for sure. Got too cold to think-” McCoy’s voice dissolved into a whisper, and Spock pressed a cup into his hands and helped him sit up to drink.

“Do you remember who put you in the grave?” said Kirk

“It was me.”

Kirk startled and drew his gun at the sound of the new voice. In the doorway stood Ash Shaw, his arms crossed in the kind of defiant stance a man uses when he knows he is guilty.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” said Kirk through his teeth, “but I’m going to figure it’s for a good reason.”

“I was supposed to bury him. Blaze wanted me to - I couldn’t, I swear I wouldn’t have gone along with it, except Blaze is so - and he’s - oh lord, he’s-”

“You expect us to feel sympathy that you left Doctor McCoy in the ground, frozen half to death - as an act of mercy?” said Spock. His face could have been carved from stone.

“No, I don’t - God, I just,” Ash drew a deep breath, “I just wanted to say - I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got involved at all. Joe’s always been a stubborn bastard, and I don’t blame you for - you know.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed.

“You have come to us… with an apology? From a guilty conscience?”

Ash fell silent.

“I find that difficult to believe,” continued Spock.

“The horse,” said Ash, “Blaze - he said Joe was an idiot, only reason he got himself killed was he didn’t know what he was doin’-”

“No,” whispered Kirk, and then again, this time much louder, “ _ no _ .”

“You know what he’s like,” said Ash, “Deputy please, oh god, just hear me out-”

“Get out,” said Spock, his voice barely concealing his fury, “get the  _ hell _ out of here-”

“Where is he?” said McCoy. He was swinging his legs over the side of the bed slowly, painfully.

“I brought him up in a cart,” said Ash quickly, “I knew there’s a chance you’d be - that you might have made it-”

“Bones,” said Kirk, “you can’t be serious-”

“Bring him in, lie him on the table,” said McCoy, “Spock, boil that water again. Jim, take that man’s horse and go fetch my bag.”

“Doctor,” said Spock. He reached out to push him back onto the bed, but McCoy caught his hand, holding it in both of his.

“Spock,” he said softly, “ _ please _ .”

Spock held his gaze for as long as he dared, then sighed.

Then Ash barged through the door once more, and all hell broke loose. From then on it was a blur - clearing the table, tearing through Blaze’s bloodied clothing, inspecting the wounds, prodding at tender flesh and bone. McCoy worked methodically, leaning on his training as though it were a crutch, letting instinct carry him through. He ordered Spock to do something - as soon as he had requested it, the thought flew from his overtaxed brain, but then Spock went over to Blaze and swiftly knocked him out. At some point, Jim got back with his bag, and he was able to clean the wounds properly, stitch what needed to be stitched, and re-set the injured man’s leg. Strange details stood out to him - Blaze made an odd, strangled sound while he was unconscious. There was a very well sewn seam in his trousers that was difficult to tear through. He had a birthmark on his calf. 

Ash watched them, pressed into the corner of the little room, his hat in his hands. He would gasp and flinch every time McCoy did something that looked particularly painful, but he did not speak. The sound was not enough to draw McCoy’s attention, but it remained on the periphery of his awareness. 

Exhaustion hit like the toll of a bell as the last bandage was tied off. McCoy straightened up, and immediately was crushed under the weight of the last few hours. Spock caught him as his knees buckled, settling him back on the bed before he and Kirk rounded on Ash Shaw.

“You’re going to take your brother,” said Kirk, “and ride on to the next town.”

Ash opened his mouth, but Kirk raised a hand, and he fell silent once more.

“I’ve heard your confession. That’s more than enough for me. You’re gonna take Blaze in that cart, and when he wakes up you’re gonna tell him that if it weren’t for the man you tried to kill for whatever idiotic reason you thought was necessary, he would be a dead man right now.”

Ash nodded, then went to his brother.

“Is he-” he said, looking over at where McCoy lay, pale and weary.

“He’ll live,” whispered McCoy.

“But if he comes back,” said Spock, “I will kill him.”

Ash’s eyes widened, and he quickly gathered up the unconscious body of his brother and was out the door. Spock watched him leave, then was at McCoy’s side in a moment, frantically checking him over.

“S’alright Spock,” said McCoy, “jus’ tired. You hush now, it’s okay.”

“There is no need for you to reassure me, doctor” said Spock, unable to keep his voice from wavering. 

“Mister Spock,” said Kirk, clearing his throat, “I’m leaving our dear doctor in your capable hands. I have, as you can imagine, some reporting to do.”

Spock nodded his thanks at Kirk, who fetched his hat, and saluted them lazily.

“I’ll be back to check on you kids later,” he said.

The door swung shut, and suddenly Spock and McCoy were alone once more. Spock thought perhaps McCoy had fallen asleep, but then his eyes fluttered open, and he gave Spock a small smile.

“You know,” he said, “I reckon I’m a bit psychic too.”

Spock blinked.

“Explain that statement,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I knew you’d be the one to rescue me,” said McCoy, “I saw it in a dream. Before you pulled me out of that hole, I saw this shadow walking towards me while I must’ve been unconscious, and I knew it was you.”

“You are ill, doctor,” said Spock, “it is entirely possible that you were hallucinating.”

“You were walking through a field of marigolds. Like the one you gave me.”

Spock stilled, and eyed McCoy nervously.

“Is this the first time you have dreamed in this way?”

McCoy shook his head.

“Been like that for the last few days actually,” he said, “that’s why I haven’t been sleeping much lately… but you know what? Just now, when I was sleeping here - I was actually fine.”

There it was again. The look of anticipation. McCoy’s eyes were wide and expectant, as though he were waiting for something. What it was, Spock didn’t know. No, that wasn’t right. He knew perfectly well, but he could hardly dare to admit it.

“Spock,” said McCoy, “I’m tired.”

Spock considered a sarcastic retort, but McCoy had lay down what he wanted at his feet, and his expression was open and vulnerable enough that he had no choice but to close the remaining distance between them.

“Perhaps I can help,” he said instead. McCoy moved to the side to make room for him, and once more they settled together, McCoy’s back to Spock’s chest, and by and by they drifted off to sleep. But this time, when their dreams reached out to each other, they were no longer alone.


End file.
